Collapse
by Alternate Reality1
Summary: The dangers of working for a rescue organisation were always known, but it takes just one incident for them to eventually be understood. [Complete]
1. Beyond Control

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the rights to any of the characters in this story, which is a real shame in so many ways! All rights belong to Carlton and Mr. Anderson, and any others I haven't mentioned here.

**Author's Notes:** Firstly, I'd like to thank **Hobbeth** for beta-ing this story for me. I'm really grateful for her help and valuable input in making this story even better to read.

Secondly, I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed my other story _The Gift_ – every review is greatly appreciated.

Now for the story – you may want to note that this is an angst story, and that there is a character death. So don't say I didn't warn you : )

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**COLLAPSE**

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**Chapter 1: Beyond Control**

A single, shallow beam of light penetrated the thick, dusty darkness. The creak of floorboards a countermelody to each played footstep. A loud creak reached through the entire house, an alert of the unsteadiness of the structure, threatening to crumble at any time soon. The earth poised to swallow the house whole, taking any occupants with it.

Smothered in darkness, the lone figure continued forward, calling as loudly as he dared without causing too much vibration. The earthquake had weakened the structure of the double-storey home, sapping the strength from the building in less than a heartbeat. The surrounding area had fared just as badly, if not worse – several buildings had succumbed to nature's wrath and had already tumbled, trapping those who were unfortunate to be within. Many had perished before help could even be summoned, whilst others who had fought to remain alive had been rescued.

The air reeked of the stench of death and despair; stale and dusty with a lingering aroma of loss. This house was just one of the many that had stood on the street only hours ago, before Mother Nature had deemed it necessary to make Mankind suffer once more, to cope with an ever-changing world. It was natural, but yet it still angered him to think it happened.

His dry voice punctuated the air once more; the echo eerily resonating throughout the hallway in which he now stood. His only reply was the eminent groan as the walls struggled with the weight they supported. Sighing in reluctance and in small defeat, he resigned his search to the inevitable – there was no one alive in the house.

Quickly he made his way to the top of the stairs, leading to the security of the ground floor. The sounds of the creaking made him distrustful to the safety of the structure of the building, creating a sense of urgency for him to escape back out onto the street to where his brothers waited.

His brothers…he needed to alert them that this house was empty.

"Mobile Control – all clear in this one. I'm on my way out." Straightforward. Clear-cut.

Final.

With a glance down the long wooden staircase, he took a steadying breath to calm his taut nerves. A single step forward.

A strong creak, as the weight registered.

Then a fearful cry as the ground began to shake beneath him.

His body had never felt such a powerful rush of adrenaline as it quickly responded to the movement. He needed to get to the ground floor, away from the unstable house, knowing full well it could not survive another attack. One step after another took him closer to the floor below. Closer to the safety of the earth. Closer to the exit, away from danger.

If only he had moved sooner.

He had only taken two steps when the full force of the aftershock erupted beneath him. The staircase shook violently as he held on tightly to the banister – his white knuckles evident of just how tightly he clung on.

_No, I need to get down from here – the stairs might collapse!_ His mind screamed with numbing terror. With legs not willing to obey his command, paralysed with a fear he knew only too familiarly, he pushed on toward the end – toward the last step.

He was halfway there when his worst fear was realised. With a final groan the staircase gave way, its strength sapped by the final attack. Finding nothing to grip hold of, he felt the weight of his body give way to gravity, falling towards the dark abyss that awaited with open jaws below…

**------------------------------------------------------------**

At Mobile Control, Scott fought to control his sense of panic. He was acutely aware there was an underlying possibility of aftershocks, but still the reality of it all failed to register in his mind. The vibrations were severe enough to cause more agitation to the area – as if there wasn't already enough devastation to contend with. But the safety of his brothers…that mind-numbing thought had planted itself in the front of his brain and now refused to budge.

The aftershock had only lasted for what felt like seconds, but it took longer for his body to stop shaking. A few seconds was all it took for the sudden movement to register in Scott's own mind as to what was happening, let alone those of his brothers. He had stepped back from Mobile Control, preferring to seek shelter from the open area just behind him.

The second the shaking had ceased, Scott raced back to his position at Mobile Control and punched the button that would open access to his brothers' wrist comms.

"Gordon! Alan! Virgil! Come in! Please report – are you all okay?" He couldn't hide the fear from his voice, the shake of his normally steady tone, now interwoven with a hint of dread. He hated his role at Mobile Control, feeling helpless and powerless to do nothing but listen.

At first there was no reply, sending shivers of trepidation down his spine and through his nerves. Fears of loss flashed through his mind at lightning speed, his worst nightmares threatening to come true. Punching the button with even greater urgency, he called again. "Can you hear me! Please, let me know you're alright!"

"Gordon here - I'm alright, but Alan's been injured. He was inside a house when the aftershock hit."

Breathing in a deep sigh of relief for his brother's answer, he held onto that breath as his brother informed him of the bad news. "How bad, Gordon?"

"Looks like both his legs are broken and possibly some ribs. He's unconscious, but his pulse is strong. I need a stretcher brought in."

"Okay, I'll go get it." Turning to leave, a brief flash of worry hit his mind again, pushing him to turn back to the control panel. "Gords, have you heard from Virgil?"

There was a brief pause as the question registered. "'Fraid not, Scott."

His anxiety hit at top level again, sending his body into override once more. "Alright, thanks Gords. I'll try him again."

Taking a moment to calm himself, he engaged communication with his eldest sibling. "Mobile Control to Virgil – can you read me Virg?"

His only reply was silence.

"Virgil this is Scott – can you hear me!" Professionalism already slipped away, Scott waited with bated breath for the reply he wanted – he so desperately needed to hear. But none came.

_God, no. This can't be happening…_ "Thunderbird Five from Mobile Control. Come in John."

"Thunderbird Five here. Is everything okay there Scott?" The tinge of worry clearly audible in John's voice, having heard the earlier attempts for contact with his older brother.

"John, can you give me Virgil's last known location? He's not responding."

A moment's pause allowed for the astronaut to refer to the readings surrounding him. Though he couldn't even begin to perceive what was racing through Scott's mind, he could feel the tension transmit over the airwaves. "His last location was a couple of blocks away – the third house on the street." The simple pressing of a button was all it took for the co-ordinates to be sent to the control panel.

"Thanks John." The field commander in him took control rushing quickly to the surface, knowing that was all that was giving him the strength to remain relatively calm.

But only on the outside.

With steady legs, but a shaky heart, Scott manoeuvred over to his silver craft, standing safely away from the devastation and chaos of the earthquake. Reaching the medical supplies, he pulled all that he could carry in his arms and on his back. It was at times like this he wished he could split his body into two.

Rushing back over to Mobile Control, he noted the position that John had sent him from far above in outer space, then headed over to Gordon's position located just a few hundred feet from where he now stood. He closed his eyes, taking time to steady his already frayed nerves.

He hoped to God that Alan was okay.

He hoped to God that Virgil was _alive_.

**------------------------------------------------------------**

He didn't dare to open his eyes.

His conscious could only imagine the worst that had happened. Had he lost consciousness? He wasn't sure.

The darkness behind his eyelids offered no comfort, especially with the sounds of crumbled debris settling around him still. With apprehension he opened his eyes, only until they were no more than slits. All he could see was a cloud of dust.

Opening his eyes wider caused a surge of pain to flood his head. Wincing, he took a deep breath to steady himself…

…only to gasp from an even greater pain that sliced through his chest.

The pain caused the rising panic within him to spike tenfold, forcing short, shallow breaths in response. Such shallow breaths viciously caused even more pain to pierce his chest, resulting in a cruel spiral of pain generating more pain. His eyes smarted with pain-filled tears, desperately clung back.

The pain filled fire seemed to be fiercest on his left side, where he presumed he had fallen awkwardly. Somehow finding some energy to attempt to move, he brought his haggard breathing under a degree of control and readied himself to move his arms. The right arm moved to his side without a hitch. The left arm brought a new wave of agony to wash over him. He silently screamed.

The tears began to fall as he gave up the attempt to move. He was pinned down somehow, paralysed with the torturous agony in his left side that had slid all the way down his torso into his legs. Anxiety nibbled at his mind, along with a somewhat morbid curiosity as to how bad his injury was.

Tenderly, so as not to aggravate the area, he felt along his chest where the breastbone was located, over his ribs and then over to…

There it was. He almost heaved then and there with the sick discovery. A cold, hard, sharp object that didn't need a science degree to identify, nor a medical degree to determine it was now lodged in his body and had caused untold damage both inside and out.

A rusty metal spike, slimy with his blood, speared through his chest at an almost ninety degree angle.

Realisation, mixed with panic and horror, drew more pain as he lost control and began to gasp quickly. His body fought to gather more oxygen to feed his starved organs. Blood flooded the front of his uniform, turning the cobalt blue to an ugly shade of burgundy, sickly dark and sticky. Weakly, he pressed his good right arm around the wound, knowing there was little else he could do.

_"Mobile Control to Virgil – can you read me Virg?"_ The unmistakeable voice of his brother caused him to involuntarily jump, though it gave him some relief. Brief relief, shattered by the realisation that the voice came from the wrist comm. – on his _left_ arm.

_Damn! I can't…can't move it…_ As though to make sure, he tried again. A bolt of pain not unlike electricity shot through his shoulder and chest, almost blinding him back into unconsciousness. With reluctance he could only whisper back, "I'm here."

_"Virgil this is Scott – can you hear me!"_

"I can hear you…" the voice so small, fear-tinged and pain-filled, like a lost child begging for the comfort of his parent. A small trickle of blood began to flow from the corner of his mouth, parallel to the tear from the corner of his eye. To say he was afraid now was nothing short of an understatement.

"Scott, help me…please…"

**------------------------------------------------------------**

An assurance from Gordon that he could handle things had to be enough for Scott's overworked mind. His protective trait was in overdrive, knowing he had three brothers to account for and safeguard. Gordon assured him Alan would be fine, and that he was able to transport him over to Thunderbird Two's medical bay by himself.

Before the assurance was even complete, however, Scott had already headed away to his next port of call. Clambering over the rubble of remains of houses that had stood not long ago, he quickly rushed to his brother's aid, knowing time was of the essence.

Time…

The word mocked him. _Scorned_ him for not giving a warning. _Tortured_ him for fearing the worst.

As he looked toward his goal he gave a sudden gasp at seeing the destruction for the first time. The real possibility he had lost a brother hit him with a devastating cruelty. _No! Mustn't think like that!_ He scolded himself brutally. But how could anyone still be alive in those ruins?

The house stood no more, the dust settling like ashes over a grave. Timber and concrete littered the ground, the only pieces left of a grand house that once stood proud on the very same spot.

With a fear-gripped heart Scott ran toward the rubble, his consciousness blocking out the forming images of his brother's broken bloodied body lying helplessly under the debris.

At first he saw nothing – just endless piles of rubble laid upon rubble. He quickly sifted through what he was able to with his bare hands – hands that shook hard, making it more awkward to hold on to anything. Heading towards what had been the back of the house he noted the remains of a step, presumably where the staircase had once stood. Now only the last step remained.

He didn't know what it was that told him to look there, but he followed his own instruction and headed to the wooden pile where the staircase had collapsed. Almost immediately he spotted a hand, lying motionlessly in the dirt and dust.

Scott's emotions were raging everywhere inside him – he didn't know whether to cry tears of joy or despair. Hoping for the former, he continued to pull away the fallen timbers until he had created a means of accessing the owner of the hand. His eyes traced the arm attached to the hand…then stopped short as a metal spike came into view; the dire situation now painfully clear. The image of the blood-soaked spear penetrated through to his bone, imprinting the image forever in his brain.

_Oh my God…no…please no…_

Taking no notice of the scratches he inflicted on his own body, his focus instead now set on the body in front of him, he scrambled forward until he was knelt beside his brother.

With trembling hands he felt for a pulse…and almost broke down with joy when he found one. The elation only brief, as he noted the pulse's weakness. At the touch, Virgil's eyes opened painfully, taking a moment to focus on Scott. Virgil's face was frighteningly pale, his colour drained along with the blood that now covered his uniform. Scott turned quickly, fighting to suppress the feeling of nausea that rose from his stomach. He tried to slide his professional face into place to mask his worried expression, but failed miserably, leaving himself open to be read as easily as a book.

Ice-blue eyes met those of Autumn-brown ones, the fear conveyed through a silent channel only these two shared. No amount of words could express the concern and alarm each felt in that frame of time. Scott's eyes betrayed the anxiousness that gripped his heart like a cold hand. Virgil's were glazed over with incomprehensible panic and a loss of control he was unknown for. He never lost control, or his composure. The sight of such loss of control almost unnerved Scott far more than the metal spike had done.

"Oh God…oh my God…" He stared in despair at the scene presented to him, dread filling his veins. "It's okay Virg, just…" He swallowed to gain even a miniscule of composure. "…just hang in there. Stay with me."

Some sense of thought returned to his frozen mind, kicking him into action. He lifted his wrist comm. to speak into, to ask for help he so desperately needed right there. "Gordon come in, this is Scott."

After a moment's pause, a welcomed response was given. "Gordon here. Any luck finding Virgil?"

"I've found him, but it's not good news…" His voice sounded strained, crackly with highly-taught emotion restrained from release. "He's…he's in a bad way. I need you to go and get some of the laser cutters from Thunderbird Two. He's…" The image flashed before his eyes again, forcing him to close them to block out the scene. "…he's impaled on a steel spike of some kind, and I need to cut him loose."

_There's so much blood Gords…_

"Okay Scott, I'll be with you as soon as I can. You just hang in there an' watch over Virg for us. Got it?" Gordon's small attempt to comfort his brother fell on almost deaf ears. "Stay with us Scott…"

Scott's mind had partly shut down, beginning to succumb to the shock. What little of Gordon's speech registered was soon forgotten, failing to be encoded in his mind. _"Stay with us Scott…"_

The last thought smacked him hard, jolting him back to reality. Raising a hand slowly above the body of his brother, he cautiously placed it around the wound where the spike had penetrated through. The blood was still warm, streaking the uniform as it flowed freely from the gaping wound. He felt so far away…

He needed to be closer.

With shaky legs he stood on equally shaky earth and rubble beneath him, scrambling his way around to Virgil's right side – taking care to avoid a similarly dangerous spike just opposite from the one that had impaled Virgil. Kneeling with such delicacy, as though too much movement would crack the ground beneath, Scott eased his hands beneath Virgil's head and gently cradled him in his arms – avoiding too much movement so as not to aggravate his brother's injuries.

Virgil was thankful for the gesture, feeling some of the warmth from Scott's body flow freely into his own. For a moment he closed his eyes to welcome the warmth and tenderness, making him briefly forget the pain that pierced through his chest like a lance. He felt the soft touch of his elder brother's fingers as they weaved through his chestnut hair, soothingly rhythmic with each stroke. He needed nothing else but his brother there and then, and silently he knew Scott needed no one but him in return.

Leaning Virgil's head on his knee, Scott subconsciously began the comforting strokes through his brother's hair. An action he had performed many times during his childhood, most frequently during the period after their beloved mother's death. The motion seemed to ease the Tracy boys' pain, letting them know he was there for them without the need for words. They felt safe, comforted; watched over even, as though he was looking over them protectively.

He hadn't felt the small rise of panic in Scott's body when he had failed to open his eyes. A pair of trembling fingers felt the side of his neck for the sign of life, in advance of an audible soft release of breath when one was found. Feeling his strength grow weaker, Virgil summoned his reserve energy to reach up his hand to grasp that of his best friend.

His soul mate.

His _touchstone_…

Even that was not enough to describe his relationship with the eldest Tracy son, but it would come close.

Feeling the grasp on his hand, Scott looked to Virgil's face, finding brown eyes lock determinedly with his own. "It's gonna be okay, Virg. You've just got to hang in a little longer for me." The words so softly spoken, a voice taut with emotion not willing to be expelled, remaining hidden just below the surface.

His brother's form fell in and out of focus; his eyelids losing the energy they required to stay open. He wanted to sleep – his body was so drained, and his mind so tired. The black abyss seemed to greet him with such promise…

"No, no Virg – you mustn't go to sleep! Stay awake if you can, just a few minutes more…" His voice faded in and out in a haze, the words blurring together as though they were melting.

Seeing his brother's fight for consciousness, Scott's fear escalated to new-found heights. His grip on the hand tightened, not wanting to let go, not wanting to submit to the blindingly obvious fate that awaited them.

"Please, hold on…please…don't leave me…" The voice no more than a whisper, begging a heart-wrenching plea to anyone who could hear him. "Please, not now…promise me…not this time."

Behind them part of the wall that once held the building firmly in place gave way, exposing some of the outside world to the two siblings. Through the dust and debris, a tiny ray of pure sunlight pierced through the dark void, falling onto the ground beside the two men.

Scott hadn't realised he had been gently rocking Virgil's weakened form until he looked up to where the light entered. Through all the destruction and chaos left behind by the earthquake, there was new hope and new light to be cast.

Virgil gave a weak cough as the oxygen his body craved was becoming increasingly harder to seize. Scott's worried look stared back down to the man in his arms, holding tighter still with desperation. "No, no, no please – please don't leave me, Virgil…promise me you won't leave me…"

With a compassionate but knowing smile, Virgil turned his gaze up to the man he had held so highly in his life.

"I promise…"

His gaze remained fixed on those blue eyes for one last time, reinforcing that promise with his heart and soul, until his own eyes could focus no more. He felt the darkness surround him, smother him and pull him away – back into the dark abyss he had been falling into for what seemed like an eternity.

Into the place where Scott could hold him no more…

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_To be continued…_


	2. Reasons

**Disclaimer:** The usual – none of the characters or settings used in the TV series or movies belong to me. Only the idea for the story is mine.

**Author's Notes:** Once again many thanks to Hobbeth for beta-ing, and many thanksto all who read and/or reviewed the first chapter -I welcome all comments on the story.

Well, today I had a lovely surprise when I found out "Thunderbird 6" was on TV, so that was me made for the day. Maybe it was an sign… Anyway, here's the second instalment.

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**Reasons**

Time had lost all meaning. Life had lost all meaning. Where had it all gone?

Familiar routine had become nothing but a programmed response – something that had to be done for life to continue. Conversation was little and sparse, nothing more than a mere acknowledgement of existence. Mealtime had become the most gruelling time, forcing everyone to face each other in mocking silence. The silence that had one time, so long ago, been rarer than hen's teeth.

The winds outside forewarned of the storm heading their way, yet the island had never been so still, so lifeless since the first day it had been inhabited. Everyone had retreated to their own solitary places, seeking their own refuge away from the constant reminders of the life they once knew.

Gradually each occupant had sought after another, longing for a reassuring hug or a tender touch that held such comfort. Words were few but precious just the same, as though they could be the last they ever heard.

The patriarch now sat behind his desk, routine beginning to become meaningful to him. He looked at the lone figure sitting before him on the sofa, a solemn expression striking his features – heartbreaking for any father to bear witness to. He longed to reach to that face, take hold of the body and wrap his son protectively in his arms away from the prying eyes of the world. Protect him from the shadows that loomed over him, seeped into his mind and soul, and drowned his heart.

Grief was not easy for any of them to express. Tin-Tin had shown it was not shameful to cry; that it was a natural response just as was blinking. She had supported Alan as he recovered in the island's hospital, spending much of her time sat on his bed as he cried, holding him close until the heart-wrenching sobs had quietened down to mere whimpers. His physical healing was slow, but his emotional scars were still painful to the touch.

She had helped to coax him to eat something those first few nights since…

Since they had been told…

Jeff couldn't bring himself to finish the thought, the grief still too raw and exposed.

John had returned home from the space station, leaving Brains' robot Braman in his place to take charge. Braman was set to automatically relay any emergency calls directly to base, allowing John the chance to find comfort with his family.

Gradually they had learned to accept food without feeling as though anything they consumed would be rejected by their stomachs. John was grateful to see his brothers accept his comfort; Gordon especially, who had lost his 'zest' so badly they feared they had lost him for good.

No….they feared he had _changed_ for good – that was what Jeff meant.

Gordon was still alive, at the very least. He hadn't _gone_ in the literal sense.

Instead he had been the one to find his oldest brothers hidden deep in the rubble. The image of his eldest brother, clinging to the body of his second oldest, had scorched itself into his brain. Scott had held on so tightly that circulation to his hands was almost cut off. Amidst his own grief Gordon had had to prise Scott's hold from the lifeless body before him, knowing there was nothing more to be done.

Things were still quiet, still stagnant compared to life beforehand. Even the storm outside now was as loud as rockets firing, compared to the silence echoing inside the home of the Tracys.

A watchful eye on the still figure before him studied the blank expression on the young man. Glazed eyes fixed apathetically to the floor beside his feet, nothing moving but the necessary motion of breathing in oxygen. Jeff's heart cracked again at the sight.

_Where are you, my son? Where is your mind taking you?_

The silence was disturbed by the entrance of the middle child of the family – in correction, the one who _used_ to be the middle child, but who had now become the second oldest. A pang of pain pricked Jeff's heart at the thought, knowing full well that John had thought the same.

Dragging his eyes from the son who occupied the sofa, Jeff looked over to the side. His eyes cast a sensitive gaze over at John, who tried to look away and hide his red swollen eyes.

His elder brother looked upon him from where he sat on the sofa with a gaze that mirrored his father's. John's piercing blue eyes met those of Scott's for a brief moment, the pain and anger so apparently clear and sharp. John tried to hide his pain with the back of his hand, but it was all too late.

Scott's fists balled at the look of his brother's sorrow, anger filling the pit of his stomach. He stood with a raging force, and stormed out of the lounge.

John watched with unmasked fear. He had never seen his eldest sibling so angry, so wounded. He looked to his father for the smallest of reassurances, but all he found was the understanding sadness in his expression.

Jeff understood what he had seen in Scott's body language. The sight of John's pain had been a strong enough force to push Scott plummeting from the cliff of sanity. He knew Scott was furious; angry with the heavens and the god – or whatever being existed – that had deemed their fate.

_His _fate.

He knew how the need to vent his torment had consumed his eldest, and knew exactly where he had gone to confront it.

**------------------------------------------------------------**

The hanger lay in deadly silence, oblivious to the harrowing winds howling outside. The storm was lashing out its own anger at the island – the wind crying in pain and the rain weeping mournful tears, beating the sands and the rocks of the landscape.

Every aggressive step he took echoed in the expanse, amidst the rows of machinery and equipment left inactive for as long as they were not needed. He wanted to hit something; he _needed_ to drain his adrenaline-filled muscles somehow to alleviate the tension and stress he felt.

He walked to the main area of the hangar, staring in front of him at one of technology's finest wonders. The green 'bird mocked him as it loomed high above, seemingly looking down on him without even a shred of compassion. He wanted to punch it, hit it, _destroy _it with his bare hands for even existing there at all; for reminding him of why he felt like this.

He paced the side of the hangar, his mind muddled with a thousand expressions crying out to be released at the same time.

Anger. Pain. Sadness. Loneliness. Regret.

Betrayal…

"VIRGIL GRISSOM TRACY, I hope you _never_ rest in peace for what you've done to this family!" The sudden blast of fury reverberated in the giant storage bay; the air waves bouncing off the high ceiling and the metal grated floor beneath. The strength of his voice was fuelled only by the hurt of his brother's passing, and the breaking of a promise. "I _hate_ you so much, you hear me? I HATE you!

"I _hate_ you for breaking our family's hearts, for the pain you've caused. I _hate _you for making me watch you die so helplessly, and making me be the one to break the news to everyone! _I hate _you for leaving me when you _promised_ you wouldn't…you PROMISED, God damn you! You _promised_!" His voice began to crack at the last words as his composure began to break down. Like raging rivers he felt the agony gush through his veins, in his blood. The pain flooded his heart, drenching it with guilt.

He folded his arms defensively around his chest, hugging himself tightly as though the action would sooth his aching muscles. He fell to the floor on his knees in penitence to the soul of his lost brother. "No, no, I didn't mean it…I'm…I don't…I don't hate you Virgil; I never could. I never…" The sharp contrast of the soft voice against that of the wrath-savaged tone only seconds before would have been unrecognisable to those who knew Scott.

He gritted his teeth as the sharp pangs twisted in his gut, paralysing him with a new kind of fear.

The fear that his grief would never end.

"Oh God, why does it have to hurt so much? Why the hell can't I breathe…?"

_Of course you can breathe, Scott. You're not dead yet._

The small voice in the back of his mind scolded him for the comment. "I'm so sorry…I'm so sorry…"

Seating himself on the cold hard floor, he rocked his pain-wracked body in a gentle rhythm to regain his self-control. He had lost control before, on numerous occasions, but never this severely. Never so completely as to feel such a loss of sense of direction, of being. He no longer knew where to turn, which way to step. He didn't know where he was or where he was going from day to day, his mind constantly in a haze.

In all honesty, Scott didn't even know how to start healing. He didn't know what to do, how to feel, or even what to think anymore. All he understood was the feeling of emptiness in the pit of his soul – a gaping, hollow void that would be hard to close.

He drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them protectively; his feeble attempt to block out the outside world. His eyes burned with unshed tears, fighting the urge to give in and let them flow freely down his cheeks. Allowing himself to cry felt as though he would be admitting to the truth, but holding back the tears was nowhere near as painful as the truth would be.

With only a few of the lights in the hangar on, everything was bathed in a soft gentle glow, casting long dark shadows across the floor and over where Scott sat. Partially hidden in the shadow of Thunderbird Two stood an onlooker, watching with pained interest the proceedings play out.

Scott's rocking gradually stilled, leaving him to stare at nothing whilst his mind travelled back to the past. He remembered the first time he had entered the hangar, had stared at the giant wonder that it housed, and watched a brother's face light with pure excitement as he saw his 'bird for the first time. A ghost of a smile almost appeared on his face, before crumpling again into sadness.

"It seems so long ago now…"

Scott's head shot up in surprise, looking up at the source of the voice. He had never heard the steps make their way to his side, had never heard the saddened sigh as his father composed himself briefly. Standing tall, with hands in pockets, Jeff took a long look over the Thunderbird that now lay dormant.

Scott gazed up at his father; a tall figure of authority who he still looked up to as a role model, even now as a thirty-two year old. He had seen the sturdy, stocky figure of the man above him break down with rivers of tears at the news of his son's death. The only other time he'd seen his father so distraught was when they had lost their mother.

Jeff knelt to sit beside Scott. Shoulders touching, they craned their necks to take in the whole of the enormous ship before them. Scott waited for his father to elaborate on his statement, only watching him from the corner of his eye – too afraid to look properly for fear it would break him.

Swallowing hard, Jeff continued. "I pondered it for a long time, whether I was right to allow you all to go into such dangerous work. I know I'd asked you if you were sure – and you were all eager to join International Rescue – but there was always a part of me that felt I was asking too much. That I was the worst father in the world to let my sons put their lives on the line."

Scott automatically shook his head, knowing his father was wrong. "It's what we wanted to do. We knew the risks. We knew there was every chance something like this would happen. It's just…hard to accept."

"I know it is, Scott. _Believe_ me, I know." Looking beside him to his eldest, he added: "But we will get through this, one way or another. We have to hang in there."

Scott breathed a deep sigh as he felt his emotions beginning to slip from his control. "I feel…I feel as though…" Exhaling calmly, he tried again to explain. "It feels as though every time I take a breath my lungs are going to explode. Every time I close my eyes he's…_there_, looking at me, asking me for help – _expecting_ me to help, but I can't. I…can't…" Scott's voice had begun to falter, quietly choking back the tears that had started to form from the memories. He tried to speak, but the words were caught in his tight throat.

Clearing his throat, he pushed himself to ask the man that sat by him. "Did it hurt like this, Dad? Did it hurt this much…when Mom died?"

Jeff's brow furrowed at the question, confused. He turned to look at his son's face to attempt to read his expression, but his ice-blue eyes refused to look at his father's. Sensing the confusion, Scott endeavoured to clarify. "I remember when Mom died, how I felt…upset and confused. I knew she wasn't coming back – that she had been taken from us – and God, I cried those few weeks afterwards. Hell, we all did." Scott's swallow struck the brief silence of the pause. "I loved Mom, but I didn't feel as close to her as I could be. I didn't…I guess you could say I felt guilty because I didn't feel as though I'd known her as well as you did."

Jeff smiled faintly, understanding now just what it was Scott was trying to say. Their experiences of grief had all been different: Scott had been the oldest and therefore the protector to his brothers. He had hugged and comforted them, been a shoulder to cry on and the rock of strength to hold on to for all of them – himself included, though Jeff had never admitted it. Lucille's death had been a terrible tragedy; one that Jeff would never wish upon a living soul, not even his worst enemy. The tortuous heartache had crippled him, paralysing him so badly he had abandoned all responsibility. Ashamedly, he admitted that had included his family.

"Scott…when your mother died, it broke my heart. Her death tore a hole in me that still to this day has refused to heal. I know you took it upon yourself to look after your brothers, and for that I am eternally grateful.

"I…admit…I wasn't the best father to you all back then. I should have been watching over you, helping you to grieve. But I was so lost and afraid and didn't know what to do. Everything blurred together, and nothing mattered any more." Jeff folded his arms across his knees, mirroring the pose of his son. "You knew your mother in a different way than I did. You were only twelve at the time. Death is a hard thing to comprehend, to completely understand at that age.

"Though Lucille was your mother, you were closer to Virgil – even from a young age. When you lose your soul mate…it's hard to let go of someone so close to you."

Jeff watched the emotions tug at Scott's mind, forcing him to close his eyes against the commotion in his head. Jeff knew he was fighting back tears, but wouldn't leave him until they were released. A small sniff from Scott told him he was getting closer.

"I know you're confused, and angry. I felt the same, wanting to blame the world for putting me through such pain. But being angry with yourself will only make things worse."

Scott ran a trembling hand through his sleek dark hair. Still he refused to look at his father and his tear-filled eyes. To acknowledge he wasn't alone.

"But what if I could've done something, Dad? Why do I feel I let him down? Let you down? Let John, Gordon, Alan…_everyone_ down?" He stared down at his hands held out before him, hands he could still picture covered in his brother's blood.

Jeff rested a reassuring hand on the pilot's shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. "The only person you're letting down right now is you, by keeping your emotions bottled up. No one is to blame for this – least of all you, Scott."

He noted the heavy blink, then the soft pale eyes turned further away from him, hidden from view. It was then that Jeff seemed to realise just why his son had decided to keep his emotions to himself. "You have nobody to confide in, that's why – isn't it? This is what you would've confided in Virgil about, but you can't…"

Scott nodded his head, only barely noticeable by the older man as he watched carefully. Scott's pain was clawing at him again, having only just eased slightly to the back of his mind. He pressed a hand hard over his eye, rubbing it forcefully to keep back the tear that threatened to spill. He left it red and sore, not caring how it looked or felt, caring nothing for his own physical suffering.

The small voice was hardly audible to Jeff's ear when it came. "I didn't mean to shout…I was angry and hurt, but I didn't mean it when I said I hated him."

Jeff nodded in understanding, having heard the anguished cries of his son bellow from the very root of his soul. He hadn't wanted to listen in to such a private moment, but the agony on Scott's face had provoked him into taking some action to ease his suffering.

"I know, Scott. Virgil knows too. He'll have heard you, because he never left you."

At this Scott raised his head in partial surprise, a mixture of grief and confusion detailed on his face. Jeff cleared his throat as it threatened to tighten again. "If I know…_knew_…my son as well as I think I did, he wouldn't have made a promise he couldn't keep. I know that, and I'm certain you do too."

"I know Dad, I…I know…" For the first time in their conversation, his son turned to look at him. Scott's anguished and tortured expression was enough to bring down the remaining walls in Jeff's heart with a thunderous crash. Jeff's cheeks were already tear-streaked, having allowed a few silent tears to fall as he talked. Scott only noticed them now for the first time as he took in his father's features, and saw a man who had lost a part of his soul.

At the sight of his father's pain Scott could hold back no more, silent streams of tears flowing down his cheeks and dropping from his chin. "Oh Scott…" Jeff simply placed an arm around his son's shoulders, pulling his head onto his shoulder to provide a pillow on which he could rest. Scott's face fell in surrender, scrunching hard as the emotion finally erupted to the surface. A few gentle sobs were soon followed by a few agonised cries as the shaking took control of his body. Scott placed an arm around his father, holding tightly to the only source of strength there for him, and cried his heart out.

He cried for the soul he had lost. For the brother he had lost.

Jeff began to rock him gently, hugging him closer and stroking his arms in a soothing motion. "It's okay…it's okay…" He rested his cheek amidst the mass of floppy hair, trying to give as much comfort as he could.

An immeasurable period of time drifted by as the two sat close together, holding each other tightly, afraid to let go. Every known emotion wracked Scott's body until he could take no more. Physically exhausted, he closed his eyes and rested his head against his father's shoulder, afraid he wouldn't be able to support himself if he tried to sit up. The rocking continued unconsciously, bringing them both just the smallest of reassurance. No words were spoken; instead, the silence conveyed everything they needed to know.

Scott was the first to try and break the silence, but his voice had been lost earlier somewhere between cries. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some function in his vocal chords. "How did you know I was in here? Did you follow me?"

The smallest hint of accusation tinged his words, but Jeff ignored it. "No, I didn't need to. Your watch, remember?" He pointed to the instrument in question.

Scott looked at it and smiled faintly. "My watch…of course – I forgot about that." He twisted the strap around his wrist, turning the watch from side to side, catching the soft light with the glass casing.

"Though I didn't need to use that to find you." Jeff waited for the frown to form on Scott's face. Sure enough, it came. Jeff elaborated, "I knew the most likely place you would come to was here, if you wanted to talk." Gesturing upwards towards the mighty green carrier, he continued, "This is the place we most associate with Virgil – this is where we'd usually find him, with his 'lady'."

Scott snorted softly. "You can't miss her, huh?" A small smile crept to Jeff's face, infected from Scott's own brief smile at the thought. "Things are never gonna be the same around here again – never." The smile faded; a sad shake of his head in defeat again. "Can you ever learn to get over something like this?"

"In all honesty, Scott, I don't think you ever learn to recover completely. You learn to cope, learn how to overcome the pain. You stop thinking in terms of the time they're _not_ here, and instead think back to the times they _were_ here."

Scott's brow furrowed as he tried to understand his father's meaning, eventually settling on superficial understanding. Deeper meaning would come to him later.

Jeff drew back his arm, readying himself to stand again. "When you can look at Virgil's picture and smile with fond memories, _then_ you'll be able to find some peace." With a warm smile Jeff lifted himself to his feet, and turned to offer a hand to Scott to help him stand. Scott gratefully took the offer, pulling himself up to match his father's height. Jeff turned to face the direction of the stairs leading to where the monorail stood waiting, placing an arm around his son's shoulders. "Come on Scott, we'd better head back to the Villa. I have a feeling John will be waiting for us, beside himself with worry that he's upset you somehow."

Scott wore an expression of guilt as the image of John's sorrow-filled eyes returned to him. "Oh God…I didn't mean to upset him, Dad. It's just that…when I saw how sad he was…I just needed to vent my anger, that's all."

"I know you did, I know. And I'm glad that you did, eventually." Jeff nodded knowingly. "Right now you have three brothers who need some of your strength; three brothers who are just as worried about you as you are about them." To this Scott simply nodded.

Jeff held his son by the shoulders until they reached the monorail. He quickly rubbed Scott's arm before letting him enter the carriage, wanting him to know he was there for his son.

That he would always be there for him, no matter what.

**------------------------------------------------------------**

_To be continued…_


	3. Eulogy

**Disclaimer:** I don't have any of the rights to the Thunderbirds characters or anything else as such. Just so you know.

**Author's Notes:** Well, this is the final chapter. Thanks go to everyone who has read the story, and to those who left a review also. Your feedback is invaluable.

Thanks once more to Hobbeth for checking this for me.

I hope this chapter works as I intend it to in ending such an emotional rollercoaster. Read and enjoy!

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**Eulogy**

"You know what I miss most about you? That smile of yours."

He turned to the picture on the desk by the side of the bed, taking in the faces that stared back at him from a time long ago. He shuffled slightly on the bed, where he lay on his back, making himself more comfortable.

He shook his head, smiling faintly at the cheeky grin in the photograph. "That smile was infectious – you could walk into a room and light up everyone's faces. It was an angelic smile – the one you used when one of us was upset about something. The one you used with Grandma whenever you were caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

"Grandma could never stay mad at you – that's why we used to use you as the distraction, while Gordon and I sneaked in the back way and got the goods. Then we'd meet up on the back porch and share them out. That was a classic Tracy tactic. It never failed – well, that was, until we grew up. It's a bit harder to sneak when you're six foot tall.

"I think Grandma learned pretty quickly when you were 'distracting' her though. You'd give her the innocent smile, but she seemed to know when you were the 'bait' and when it was genuine. That's when we switched to using John as the bait, but he always stuttered when he lied, so that didn't last long."

Scott gave a long sigh as memories played out in his head. "Dad always said that you must've inherited that smile from Mom, since she was the only one who could smile as sweetly as you could. Mom…you looked so much like her, it was unbelievable. I think Dad was the only one who could truly appreciate that sentiment, since he remembers her best, and misses her with his heart. Well, you and I remembered much more of her than Johnny, Gordon and Al. I wish they could've gotten to know her better."

Scott looked over to the doorway of his bedroom, crossing his arms behind his head to act as a pillow. He allowed the memories to surface freely. "I can still see you standing at the doorway, that first night you heard me cry. It was just after Mom died, and I was on my bed curled up, trying to fall asleep but couldn't. I didn't hear the door open, or hear you walk in. You must've been what, eight years old or so? You came in, and gave me that smile of yours that told me everything was going be alright.

"I was embarrassed at first. The last thing I wanted was my brother to see me cry. I was the oldest, for God's sake. I always imagined myself to be the 'bold' one, the one whose role was to look out for you. I guess that night I learned how important it was to have someone to turn to, someone to lean on when I needed it. That night, I realised it was you. You didn't look at me with question, or disappointment, or anything. You were just…_there,_ to listen to me, to help me get it all out of my system - just to let me know you understood. Just a simple hug, but it was the one thing I'd needed. Thanks for that."

He turned towards the picture closest to him, smiling a gracious smile at the person he looked to. The picture was simple, but meaningful. It was one of himself and his brother, taken when they were just children. The sturdy arms of an eight-year-old Scott were wrapped around the small shoulders of a five-year-old Virgil. Scott peered over his shoulder, both of them wearing identical grins as they posed for the camera. Virgil's cheeky grin held a number of gaps where he had lost his baby teeth, whilst Scott poked his tongue out slightly. Even at such a young age, even before their mother had died, Scott was protective of his brother, and so very close at heart.

"I remember the day when that picture was taken. Dad had bought a new digital camera that was supposed to take clear pictures, even if your hands were shaky. So what better way to test it out than with two young, boisterous boys? He was glad it worked, and was fairly pleased with the results. I had to hold on to you just so he could take the photo. You wouldn't stand still at all; instead you were eager to run around to release all your excess energy. So I grabbed you from behind and held you in one place." His face was lit with a warming glow. "I think it's the best picture he ever took of both of us.

"Mom was pregnant with Gordon at that time. That's right…she wanted us out of the way for some peace and quiet, so Dad decided to try out the new camera. I can't remember where Johnny was – he must've been inside, on the piano or something.

"Mom loved that piano. You remember – the one with the sticky keys?" He snorted softly to himself at the memory. "Sometimes Gordon used to sit and watch Mom playing, or watch her help you with your studies. Mom went mad that day Gords managed to spill his drink all over the keys – I've never seen a three-year-old run as fast as he did that day. She was furious – more so when she came to play it the next day and found the bottom octave keys were all sticky. She'd press a note, and the key would take ages to lift back up. But you know something? She never had the piano replaced, or the faulty keys fixed. I asked her why not, but all she told me was that the piano was now unique. It had the 'Gordon seal-of-approval' spilled all over it, so it was truly marked as 'ours'. I didn't understand what she meant at the time, but I guess I do now."

Scott closed his eyes as music began to play in his mind. Images of his mother – followed by his brother – performing on the piano appeared to him. He allowed the soothing melody of a beautiful Beethoven sonata fill his soul, relaxing him. "It's funny, but we could always tell what mood you were in by the piece of music you played. If it was an upbeat march then you were in a jovial mood. A sonata or concerto – depending on which key it was – meant you were thinking about something. Minor key meant you were troubled – major key, you'd worked it out.

"A fugue or a study meant you wanted to challenge yourself; you wanted to burn some excess energy, or you were bored. And if it was a Schumann or Chopin piece, we weren't to even dare talk to you and risk disturbing your concentration." A smile lifted onto his features, reaching his eyes. "Remember the theme you composed for us? Our own 'Thunderbirds' theme? Sometimes you'd sneak it in if we ever had visitors and had 'Operation Cover-Up' in place. They wouldn't know what that particular tune meant, but we all knew. Dad would cast a glance in your direction, but you'd shrug it off and he'd smile anyway."

Lifting both his hands from behind his head, he wiped them over his face as he let out a deep sigh. "How did it happen? How did you and I become so close? Dad's asked a few times, but I guess no one can answer that. I mean, you were into the arts, creativity, and engineering. I was into flying and such. What did we ever have in common, I wonder?" A smile played on his lips. "Ah, I don't care how – it's the fact we _were_ so close that matters.

"You know," Scott bit his lower lip in thought. "You were the one person in the whole world who could read me below the surface. Sometimes John can guess what I'm thinking, but you could actually _read_ my thoughts deep below the surface, and I could read yours. It was a nightmare when it came to buying birthday presents; I could never lie to you without keeping a straight face. But when it came to hiding problems, you'd always know. You always knew when I was covering up, bottling something up inside. And I knew I couldn't do anything to hide it, no matter how hard I tried.

"Maybe it was because we were opposites…maybe because you were always the patient one, where I was always edgy, or eager to get going. You thought things through, where I always acted on instinct. I know, you were the next to be born in the family, so I guess it makes some sense that I'd bond with you first but…I don't know, it just seemed the most unusual pairing.

"But you know what, little brother? I wouldn't have had it any other way. God, you saved my sanity more times than I care to imagine. You brought the best out of me, and the worst. It was frightening just how you _knew_ what I was thinking and feeling, and how I knew your thoughts in return. You were a terrible liar when it came to hiding something. It could be a look in your eye, or a twitch in your smile that gave you away.

"I remember when we first started work as International Rescue, when I found you still awake at two in the morning. You were in the kitchen, wide awake with thoughts running through your head. I took one look at your face and I knew you needed to talk." Scott turned his gaze towards a second frame that held a more recent photograph – only this one was of all five brothers together, taken no more than two years previously. "You told me you were scared. You were afraid to face a rescue where there was a strong possibility we would fail; that it was only a matter of time when we _would_ fail some day. The landing of the Fireflash was just the start of it all. I knew what you meant; I was scared that we'd fail, too, but I had to admit I was more terrified of failing you guys, though I'd never openly admit to it.

"I'd thought about it over and over when Dad had asked if we were up to working for a rescue organisation. I wanted to save lives; I wanted to save people from the pain of losing a loved one, of course I did. But I didn't want it to mean putting my brothers' lives on the line, risking going through that pain again.

"Damn it, I knew some day it would happen, I just knew. We all felt the same, but you told me to keep telling myself that it would be worth it. If we watched each others' backs we'd be okay." Scott snorted quietly to himself. "You even said that if anything like that did happen, we'd all learn to 'get over it'; that we'd learn to get over the pain and get on with our lives. I didn't want to test _that_ particular theory out."

He lazily dropped an arm across his eyes, allowing the silence of thought to hang in the air. Releasing a deep sigh, he turned his body and reached an arm over to the more recent of the two photographs that sat on his desk. Carefully lifting the frame over towards the bed, he looked into the warm, soulful eyes that stared back at him. He longingly stroked the face to whom the eyes belonged, almost as if he could still touch him, still feel him close.

"Virg, what would I ever have done without you?" He smiled a warm smile, thinking back to the time when the photograph was taken. Their father had thought it a good idea to have a picture of all five of them together for a change, since the last time they had been together in one place had been just before Scott had decided to join the Air Force. All of them stood in a line, in no particular order as such. Each had placed an arm around the brother stood next to them, linking them.

John stood at the end on the left hand side, his arm around Gordon by his side, sporting a cheeky grin. Next in line was Scott, in the middle with his arm around Gordon and Virgil's shoulders. The youngest, Alan, completed the line-up on the right. Each wore a grin that nearly split their faces in half, as they looked over to where Gordon stood – the centre of attention as always. As their father had held a finger over the button on the camera, poised to take the shot, they had called out 'Cheese!' – to which Gordon had cheekily added: 'Cheese-_y puffs_!' and had them all nearly splitting their sides. Their excitement levels at being reunited had been high – understandably, since they were a very close family and missed each other's company.

That had made the pain so much harder to bear.

"You certainly knew how to break our hearts, didn't you Virgil?" He spoke to the man in question.

Looking hard at the picture, Scott thought back to a couple of months previous, of what his father had told him, understanding only now just what he had meant by his words.

_"When you can look at Virgil's picture and smile with fond memories, then you'll be able to find some peace."_

That time had finally come, along with the smile he never thought would return to his chiselled features.

He gently returned the picture to its place on the desk, then shuffled onto his side under the bed sheets. One last look towards the pictures, he smiled, and whispered, "G'night, Virg," to the night air.

He couldn't be certain, but somewhere in the back of his mind registered a quiet voice in reply. He left it to his imagination, conjured up by expectation or a memory of how the reply had always come. But something inside him wanted to believe his brother was watching over him, keeping his promise never to leave his side. He wanted to believe that, in the quiet night air, he had heard the distinctive voice of his brother call back to him.

"Night, Scott."

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_Fin_


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